Unless You Know
by Renebre
Summary: Snape-Lily, James-Lily. Snape's memories, and his sympathy towards Malfoy are explained.One story. If you read it - and please do - review it.


AN: The first thing to know is that this story occurs in the timeframe of "Its Like That (VIII)". You'll have to read that to fully understand the references I make to Draco Malfoy. However, that is not necessary to understand the story. This is a standalone story. It came to me while I was wrapping my chemistry book in plastic. It might be interesting to know that I never liked Snape fics before I wrote this. And there was be a few discrepancies within this story and that of the Harry Potter series. If so, I'll be glad for any point outs. Oh, one more thing (The last thing, I swear) I didn't know Lily's last name, but I vaguely remember Lily Evans from somewhere. Correct me if I'm wrong. Thanks for the reviews - I adore them all (yes even the flame) - Review again?

Disclaimer : I own the assumptions I make in this story. JK Rowling and her muse own the characters and setting.

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Snape looked idly out at the rows of students before him, all working – for the time being anyway – silently. He fingered the root before him absently, letting his eyes wander around the classroom. As usual, his thin lips curled into a sneer when he came to Potter. Yet he looked at him anyway. It angered him to look at Potter, and it hurt him sometimes as well, yet he still looked at him. The resemblance to his father was uncanny. Snape hated him because of that. 

But he had his mother's eyes.

Lily's eyes.

He hated him even more passionately because of that.

He hated any reminder of Lily. 

Today, more than ever.

She had died today.

Many years ago.

Paradoxically, Snape's eyes lingered on Potter longer, because it _was _today.

Snape shifted in his seat abruptly. He looked around again, his eyes not focusing. He was thinking. 

Remembering. 

He didn't want to remember.

Almost frantically, Snape snapped his eyes into attention and flicked his eyes to Malfoy.

When you were looking, you couldn't think.

You couldn't remember.

Malfoy reminded Snape of himself. 

The boy was uncharacteristically quiet, not even looking up to make trouble for Potter. He was still preoccupied with the whole Ginny Weasley affair, Snape knew. He pitied the boy.

He remembered how it had been for him.

He had been in love with Lily Po-

But she hadn't been Lily Potter then.

She had just been Lily.

For a short while, she had been _his _Lily.

But only a short while.

He didn't want to remember, goddamit!

The students were beginning to stir, a sign that they had finished their work. Bags ruffled and parchment sheets rustled as they took them out to write. 

Snape turned his thoughts back to Malfoy. 

Yes. 

It was exactly the same.

History repeating itself.

He had wanted Lily. Lily had wanted Potter. Potter Senior, that is. Snape's lips curled in an unpleasant smile.

Malfoy wanted Ginny. Ginny wanted Potter. Potter Junior. Snape's smile became even more unpleasant.

But there was a difference.

Ginny was torn.

Lily hadn't been.

Snape didn't flinch at the surge of bitterness that came over him. He had learned to accept it. To deal with it.

To enjoy it, even, sometimes.

Admittedly, in a sick way.

He would have given her anything. He would have done anything for her.

And all Potter (senior) had to do was be himself. His charming, handsome self. Out of puberty and into God's-gift-to-witches. He'd smiled, and laughed, and directed it at Lily. Snape couldn't smile that way, and he rarely laughed.

More rarely now than before.

He didn't want to remember!

But he did anyway.

The memories – you couldn't stop them.

He'd tried.

For sixteen bloody years, for every day of Potter (junior's) life, he had tried to stop remembering.

He couldn't.

He remembered everything.

Every little detail.

The way she'd laughed.

The way she'd smiled.

The way she'd turned up her face sweetly and let him kiss her.

The way she'd kissed him back.

The way she'd looked on her wedding day.

The way she'd looked when she died.

He remembered everything.

From the beginning to the end.

It had been a short story.

A story to last him the rest of his life.

What _was_ the beginning?

Oh, he knew.

It had been the day she'd agreed to be his girlfriend.

It had been a sunny summer day. When he thought about her in later years, - as he did, often - that was the background he remembered her in. A sunny day. They'd been walking together, him slouched over, as if to avoid as much of the sun as possible, her with her back as straight as a lance. She always walked proudly, and he liked that. Yet she didn't give the impression of being a snob, and maybe it was because she walked as if she loved walking. Maybe because it was because of the sweet expression on her face. She was the sweetest girl he had ever known.

They'd stopped at the edge of the lake. He had picked up a flat stone and skipped it across the surface with his left hand, his right hand in his pocket, his head still bent. He counted the number of times the stone skipped before it was snatched by the creature in the lake. Lily had watched him.

"I like your company." She said suddenly.

It was sudden enough for him. He jerked slightly in surprise, and maybe in shock. He couldn't stop himself from turning beet red. Not that he was shy, not by any means. He was popular in his own clique. He was one of the more popular Slytherins.

Still, approval from Lily Evans wasn't something you got everyday.

She was very – selective – about the company she kept. He often thought that was why she was so special. She didn't care to become popular if it meant she had to associate with low lifes.

But then, he thought everyone was a low life in comparison to Lily Evans.

And approval from Lily Evans when you'd been fantasising about her for a few weeks . . . well, that was just something else.

He didn't know what to say.

So he repeated her words. "I like your company too."

And then he blurted it out. "Will you be - will you be my girlfriend?" 

She'd hesitated.

An impossibly long time.

Then she smiled.

Lily Evans' smile was always something to look at.

"Yes." She said simply.

And life was bliss.

It _had _been simple, right from the very beginning. They'd dated the whole of their fifth year, and some of their sixth. 

Then she'd fallen in love with Potter (senior).

He had always been cursed with an observant nature.

It had always brought him nothing but pain.

He knew the very moment that she fell in love with Potter.

They'd been walking, like the day she'd become _his_. They'd stopped by a tree next to the lake so he could tie up his shoelace. Snape had just finished tying his shoelace. He was looking up, and then he saw it.

Lily was staring off into space, looking impossibly remote, when Potter came by, with his stupid friends, Remus, Sirius and Peter. He'd looked tall and handsome, walking with a proud walk that reminded Snape of Lily. His black hair had gleamed in the sun, his bright eyes were flashing merrily. He'd caught sight of Lily and waved. Lily, after a moment's hesitation, had waved back. He'd smiled at her, and laughed, out of nowhere. Lily had suddenly laughed too, a bubbling, anticipating laugh, as if she was giddy with happiness. James – _Potter_ – had walked off with his stupid friends, four stupid wizards in a row.

Snape probably knew it before Lily did. 

He'd stood up, his heart leaden and cold in his chest. He knew it, with an inevitability that hurt him more than anything. Lily no longer looked remote, she looked earthy, her eyes sparkling brilliantly, her cheeks flushed. He had never made her look that way.

They'd broken up a week later.

Lily had cried, but Snape had said nothing. His face was cold and silently angry, with an anger so deep and inbred that it would never fully leave him.

He never forgave Potter.

He never forgave Lily.

But he never stopped loving her.

A year after they had graduated from Hogwarts, Lily Evans became Lily Potter. Snape attended the wedding, but Lily never knew he was there. He had borrowed an Invisible cloak from one of his Slytherin friends. He _had_ to watch. 

Lily was impossibly happy, happy in a way she'd never been with him. He watched, his heart stinging with every smile she gave Potter. Becoming more sore with every laugh she laughed. 

He didn't pay much attention to Potter, but deep in his grieving, angry heart, he was glad that Potter loved Lily.

Loved her as much as he himself loved her.

But not more than.

That wasn't possible.

He became a Death Eater a year later.

And in that year, he watched as the only woman he had ever loved, the only woman he _would _ever love, died.

Peter Pettigrew had told Lord Voldemort where the Potters were.

Lord Voldemort had promised him that Lily would not be harmed.

He lied.

Snape had gone to the Potters anyway. He didn't trust Voldemort.

He didn't trust anyone.

His lack of trust killed her.

He'd arrived right after James had been killed.

Voldemort had been pointing his wand at Lily.

He screamed, "Cru-"

Snape screamed as well. "_Stop!_"

Lord Voldemort whirled around. His eyes blazed a frightening red.

Snape was past being frightened.

Lord Voldemort was infuriated. He demanded utmost loyalty from his Death Eaters. His lifted his wand again. "_Avada Kedavra_!"

Lily died instantly. 

She didn't look at him when she died.

Her eyes had been turned to Potter Senior.

_Yours in life, yours in death._

Then Lord Voldemort had tried to kill Potter Junior.

Later, Snape would wonder, in vain, whether if he hadn't turned up, Lord Voldemort would have killed Lily.

He had killed her to punish Snape.

Would he have killed her anyway?

Snape thought so.

But he didn't _know. _

That was what made his life a living hell.

He'd gone over to the good side.

It still tortured his nights and made his days hell.

You couldn't escape.

You couldn't escape unless you knew.

Snape closed his eyes briefly.

When he opened them, the bell had rung. 

It was time for the students to go.

Everytime he relived the memories, he was left feeling drained and bitter.

There was really nothing left to live for.

Except the memory of Lily.

No matter how much it hurt.

The students filed out. Malfoy's feet were dragging, and Snape gave him an almost paternal pat on the shoulder. Malfoy looked at him, and deep beneath the arrogance and the coldness the boy had built around himself, Snape saw the gratitude.

He only wished the boy the best.

The best that he had never gotten.

There were only so many women in the world.

And you couldn't share.

Snape's lips curled _very _unpleasantly.

"Stay back and clean up the potions cupboard, Potter." 

The potions cupboard was a mess of slime and disorganized potions.

Potter's (junior) eyes widened, and his nostrils flared angrily. There was rebellion and frustration in his green eyes. 

Snape smiled disagreeably.

There were still little joys in the world.


End file.
